


Sorrow

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Solas leaves Lavellan like the asshole egg that he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:53:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3411338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some post-game Solavellan angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorrow

                 The wolf was ashamed. He hung his sorrow-heavy head, shoulders bowing under the weight of the grief he wore around his neck like a stone, ready to sink to the ground in penance. He felt her pain like a knife edge to his breast, she keened in loneliness, far above him in her bedchamber, dreams laced with rainwater and the faded glow of a loving smile. If he could go back, he would. He was so foolish, turning away from her even as she begged him to stay, hands slipping from his, not sinking in with talons and teeth, the fierce white-burning anger that ran like holy steel on the fields of battle, quenched by the water up to her knees and the wetness on her cheeks. He left her like that, alone, sobbing his name like a broken bird, and his hands clenched, claws digging into old world-weary flesh, all the will he possessed thrown up like a wall. If he hesitated, one step faltering he would turn back, the truth would spill like the water down her cheeks and he would stay. He would have stayed. But he hadn’t. He thought he knew best. She had chastised him for that before, the pride he had, _You may know much, but you don’t know all, vhenan._

                Vhenan. She had called him vhenan before the grove, the word easy on her tongue. Love had been easy for her, relaxing into him with soft hands and an open heart. She had told him she loved him. That day, the day that was a bruise in his mind, an ugly thing that ached with heartsick. She had offered him her heart. He had turned it away with nothing but an apology, a promise that after, that after the sky was healed and the world was saved, that he would tell her, that the truth would come, and he ached for it.

                The truth was heavy, thick like a tear-stained throat, and bloated in his mind like rotten fruit. It choked him, his words quenched behind his teeth, a vine snaking from his heart to protect him, protect him from the gentleness her gaze offered, the gentleness he didn’t deserve. He must keep himself separate, must keep her out of it, the burden was his to carry, she did not deserve to bear the weight of his mistakes, did not deserve the centuries of pain he had helped cause. He ached for her, for her love and understanding, but he knew, knew and wished he did not, that she could not, must not, ever understand the truth. Let him carry the broken heart, but set her free.

                The world was cold and silent for the wolf, sky dark, stars far above like icy pinpricks,

                In the night, isolated and so dreadfully alone, the Dread Wolf wept. 


End file.
